Ruby, the oldest known goat on the Vineyard and a polarizing up-Island figure, was laid to rest on April 19 at age 20.

Year after year, she earned blue ribbons at the Martha’s Vineyard Agricultural for oldest goat. She was the only contestant in her category, recalled her owner Doug Liman.

Ruby had a signature look — she sported tennis balls on her hollow horns. The accoutrements looked cute, but they also served a purpose: to soften the blow of her frequent attacks on visitors to Mr. Liman’s Chilmark farm.

“She had these sharp horns which are a little intimidating, so I thought putting nice, soft tennis balls on the ends of them would be a good way to protect people,” Mr. Liman said.

Ruby enjoyed beach time - always wearing tennis balls on her pointy horns. — Courtesy Doug Liman

She was buried with her tennis balls intact.

Mr. Liman said Ruby liked to follow him wherever he went, including into the ocean at Squibnocket beach.

“Goats don’t have the anatomy for swimming, but wherever I was going, she wanted to be,” he said.

Once she became familiar with the route, she’d wander down to the shore alone, looking for humans to socialize with.

Ruby was living at North Tabor Farm when Mr. Liman first met her, in 2010. She was deemed a “problem goat” by farm manager Rebecca Miller.

“We were boarding Ruby, and she was definitely a handful. She was a force to be reckoned with because she did not like women, and she did not like kids,” Ms. Miller said.

Ms. Miller noted that Ruby is the only goat she has ever known to live beyond the age of 13. Pet goats’ typical lifespans are to 10 to 15 years, according to experts.

Ms. Miller also had affection for Ruby, highlighting some of her admirable traits.

“Ruby just was so 100 per cent herself. She was always authentic, and I admire that in her,” she said.

Ruby’s quirks are in part what drew Mr. Liman to her, though he admits that the pair didn’t immediately click.

“I brought her home thinking she’d eat the poison ivy and clear off my stone walls, and instead the first thing she did was eat the rose bushes around my house. So it wasn’t necessarily love at first sight,” Mr. Liman said.

Some days Mr. Liman would find her in the kitchen, having eaten his food or interacting with a perplexed house-guest.

“Say what you want about her, she made an impression on people,” Mr. Liman said, defending her tendency to cross boundaries.

It was common for Ruby to stray from her home in Blacksmith Valley and end up at a neighboring house, or even in the middle of the road.

“Sometimes I’d get a call from the police saying she’s down at the beach, where she went because she knew it was a good place to find people. Other times she’d be hanging out with workmen building a house on State Road,” Mr. Liman said.

At home, she was always present, both as a topic of conversation, and physically at the table.

“I have an outdoor dining room, and there wasn’t a meal outside since I’ve had the house that Ruby didn’t attend,” Mr. Liman said.

Mr. Liman’s mother, the painter, Ellen Liman, objected to Ruby’s presence, though.

“It’s either me or the goat,” she once told her son, fully aware of whose company he’d choose.

Ruby and Mr. Liman were both happiest in each other’s company. The pair spent Ruby’s final night resting in her pen. Mr. Liman said he might have contracted Lyme disease as a result. Unperturbed, he said a potential diagnosis would be “something to remember her by.”